My Duty to Eywa
by YhajeBravo
Summary: Neytiri was meant to be a pure tsahik, but she chose a Sky Person. I, Bakteyo of the once-proud Omaticaya clan, will vanquish the traitors of our people. Those who accept the Sky People must be stopped. One shot.


_Note: The world of Avatar and the characters are properties of James Cameron. Bakteyo is my own creation._

Neytiri Dis'kahan Mo'at'itey had the potential for greatness. She was a powerful warrior, skilled hunter, and had a spiritual connection that had set her apart from the rest. She was gifted in her physical attributes, having a powerful yet slender body, and she possessed exceptional spiritual virtues and intelligence. She could have been a true tsahik of the once-great Omaticaya clan.

But she who belonged to Tsu'tey chose the dreamwalker, Jakesully, instead. He is the very man who caused so much suffering, perpetrating the Time of Great Sorrow, and had brainwashed my tsahik and my people to make him Olo'eyktan.

This Neytiri, the dreamwalker's mate, used her abilities and talents to embrace the Sky People culture. I was infuriated when I observed that one of the invaders by the name of Grace Augustine congratulated Neytiri as her best student. Mo'at's daughter was using her potential on the useless knowledge that the Sky People possesses; the very knowledge that destroyed our home and mauled our Great Mother at the Tree of Voices.

She was corrupted, and was in no way qualified for the position of tsahik. Yet, against my expectations, she was welcomed by our clan to be Mo'at's successor. I know that everything she was, everything she had done, was hidden beneath the lies of the corrupt dreamwalker. I knew I would die to the wretched Olo'eyktan's clan, but I upheld my faith to Eywa. Of all the people, this traitor Neytiri was the one who taught Jakesully and eventually allowed him to live. I, Bakteyo, was once a proud hunter of the Omaticaya, and loyal to the clan's leadership. But everything has changed; I must punish this dreamwalker. Simple death isn't enough for him, as I must strike his heart and mind, his very soul. The clear answer is his treasonous soul-mate: Neytiri. I have plans for her. I pledged my sacred mission to Eywa.

Being one of the leading hunters of the clan, I was well trained and capable of stalking prey with expertise and precision. Yet, it was difficult for me to find the golden opportunity for the kill. But the months of trial-and-error and meticulous practice and planning were eventually rewarded; Eywa finally gave me the opportunity I had long needed. I was able to stalk the traitor on one of her solo excursions into the forest at night. Just as she was gathering and processing herbs from various plants, I leaped down on her, tackling her to the ground and deftly striking a heavy blow to the tip of her queue, her tswin, tsahaylu. The result of that was instantaneous: she was helplessly blinded. That would only be temporary, but it was enough time for me to complete my mission. Unsheathing my knife, I pulled her onto her feet and drew her to me, seemingly in an embrace. Her incapacitation from my previous blow rendered her unable to resist my motions. I laid the cold blade against her belly and pushed it into her with irreversible finality and deadly intent.

I levered the knife deep into her gut and clamped my hand over her mouth to stifle the scream that bubbled up from her suddenly-violated body. The pain tore her apart, overloading her senses. She tried again to scream, but I kept my hand gripped considerately over her mouth. She opened her eyes and fixed me with an intense and questioning stare.

I watched her eyes drop to be shaft of the blade buried in her belly, just above the loincloth. She watched my hand as I pulled the blade up to her sternum, neatly gutting her. She stared in wide-eyed fascination as the ropy coils of her own intestines slid out of her belly and hung to her knees. Her eyes were filled with shock and disbelief. Her terror must have blocked off the pain. I angled the cutting edge up under her rib cage and lanced it into her heart. The yellow eyes rolled back in her head, becoming white orbs.

I could feel the blood coming up, filling her mouth, hot and sticky behind my hand. Grabbing her braided queue, I pulled her head back away from my face; saw the mouth pout in a small soundless puckered "O" as I jerked the knife free from her belly. A fountain of blood erupted, spurting darkly over the glowing plants.

The traitor gasped, a raw sucking sound. I'd heard it before, and recognized its implications. She made an obscene throaty gurgle and the blood spewed from her mouth and nostrils. She choked and collapsed to her knees, and then flopped onto her back. Through the rustling leaves of the forest, she could catch the stars and the faint outline of the Polyphemus. She called for her Jakesully once, softly, hiccupped and slid away into death. I was heartened. It was a satisfying kill.

I peered into her lusterless eyes. She was undeniably dead. I dragged her disemboweled corpse under a chest-high branch and use her own necklace to lash her wrists onto the branch, causing her to sag on her knees. More of her viscera flopped out of her belly and rested on her thighs. The sightless eyes seemed to stare at her slit belly, her head hung forward between her upraised arms. Appropriate. On her knees. Doing a traitor's penance.

I left Neytiri in the forest; her exposed intestines would be a feast for the natang that patrolled at night. I knew my mission for Eywa was a suicidal one and that I couldn't hide from the wrath of the clan. They were disillusioned by their dreamwalker Olo'eyktan, the one who has spilled so many of my people's blood and deceived the rest. They had discovered the evidence to expose and accuse me, and I freely confessed to my sacred cause. The clan found the corpse of the traitor Neytiri and displayed it in front of me a few days later, and I felt no regret as I looked at the stiff, discolored body of the treasonous woman. The look of shock and terror had locked on her face, as if she was continually trying to cry out against me. Her mouth was open and her lips remain pouted in a surprised "O". I smiled back at her, relishing her expression when she had felt her entrails violated. The belly of the traitor that had been neatly sliced became mangled and unrecognizable, torn by the teeth of predators hungry for her delicious innards. To the eyes of my brainwashed people, it was horror. But to my pure soul, it was an art. I only knew that I had vanquished the enemies of Eywa. As I stand on the scaffold now, I can feel the blades against my queue and throat, but I am not afraid. I have completed my duty to the Great Mother, and my people are ready to send me to her.

_Author's note: I never intended Bakteyo to be the good guy; he is simply the narrator, a profoundly flawed protagonist. This would be his account right before his execution. I don't particularly hate Neytiri, but I don't like her character. Yes, she's strong, passionate, cunning, but she seems too flat._


End file.
